


On Life, A Dictionary

by isuilde



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Marriage, Unrepentant Fluff, implied Chris/mystery boyfriend, implied Otabek/Yuri growing relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 19:53:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14409441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isuilde/pseuds/isuilde
Summary: This is a manual Japanese dictionary written by Victor Nikiforov. Not for sale. If found, please send it back to either Victor Nikiforov or Katsuki Yuuri.P.S.: Yuri Plisetsky, you shouldn’t be reading this until you’re of age.P.P.S.: Christophe Giacometti, if you’re reading this, put this down, you can’t handle my and Yuuri’s love.





	On Life, A Dictionary

**Author's Note:**

> Fic archiving purposes.
> 
> Sold at Comifuro 2017. Cover art done by @andykuzuki on twitter which you can find [here, please look at how gorgeous it is!!!](http://sportsharumaki.tumblr.com/post/155824811324/on-life-a-dictionary-victuuri-fannnovel-by)

**•** **愛 – Ai** (n.) love, affection; see also: **勝生勇利 (Katsuki Yuuri), 氷 (Koori).**

  
Victor Nikiforov didn’t fall in love. It would have been more accurate to say that he stumbled. It didn’t really matter either way—both involve going down deep into the hole that Katsuki Yuuri crafted in him with a combination of alcohol, a dance, a smile and laugh that reminds Victor of _loving the world_ , and a rather exciting and very much informal request for Victor to be his couch.  
   
Before he knew it, Victor was already in too deep.  
   
And perhaps there was something to be said about love and embracing love, because even if it had required so much courage, it had brought Victor nothing but amazing things. He’d been prepared to throw everything once he’d finished watching the video of Yuuri skating his program—his career, his relationship with his coach, his comfort zone in Russia, his reputation, if need be. A reckless, almost blind, and yet thrilling decision, and Victor found nothing down the road but more love.  
   
What he found was this: Katsuki Yuuri, surrounded by love, receiving love, and giving love. Cupped in trembling hands that steadily grew stronger, a love so special extended to Victor and Victor only, and Victor Nikiforov was blessed.

 

  
   
**•祈り – Inori** (n.) prayer.

  
Honestly speaking, Victor wasn’t one to believe in god.  
   
Yuuri, though, did. Though considering how deeply ingrained the mix of Shintoism and Buddhism were with Japan’s traditions and daily life, Victor wasn’t at all surprised. He watched with great curiosity and enthusiasm instead: the thanks Yuuri and his family gave before they dug into meals, the small _butsudan_ altar with the picture of Yuuri’s grandparents and the occasional clink of bells when one of the family members prayed for them, the various protection charms he found among Yuuri’s belongings. He understood that they were important for Yuuri, but still, it didn’t make it less hard when Yuuri told him that he’d go home to Hasetsu right after Christmas and spend the New Year in Japan.  
   
“For us, it’s time for family,” Yuuri said, his breath puffing white in the cold air of Saint Petersburg. “And I want to go for _hatsumoude_ , too.”  
   
“ _Hatsumoude_?” Victor echoed, the syllables foreign in his tongue.  
   
“The first visit of the shrine on New Year. We burn the old protection charms, buy new ones, bathe in smoke for health, check our luck for the year, and pray for a good year overall,” Yuuri explained. His fingers tighten around Victor’s own inside the pocket of Victor’s coat, and Victor could feel him playing with the ring. “I have a lot to pray for.”  
   
That was a no-go on the plan to buy tickets for a ballet performance at Mariinsky Theatre and a dinner reservation at Sadko, Victor supposed. Ah well, he could surprise Yuuri another day. They did, after all, have forever. “When are you coming back, then?”  
   
Yuuri glanced at him, smiling almost shyly. “About that,” he said, one hand going up to scratch the back of his head. “I booked a ticket for you too.”  
   
Victor blinked. “Huh?”  
   
“I said,” Yuuri’s fingers in his coat are fiddling with his ring, and his smile turned embarrassed. “that it’s time for family, didn’t I?”  
   
And that was how Victor Nikiforov ended up spending his New Year back at Hasetsu, eating New Year soba at his soon-to-be in-laws, watching _Kouhaku Uta-Gassen_ and taking Yuuri’s sister on a drinking match. He also went with Yuuri and the Nishigori family for _hatsumoude_ , munching endlessly on _ikayaki_ and being given too many cups of _amazake_ by the grandma who ran a festival booth by the shrine gate.  
   
He watched Yuuri, too—clapping his hands in front of the _saisenbako_ and ringing the bell overhead, and how odd it looked because Yuuri didn’t seem like praying. At least he wasn’t, to Victor. This, he realized, was a perfunctory ritual, and while Yuuri was praying, it wasn’t the desperate sort of praying that Victor had gotten used to seeing.  
   
Because Victor had seen it, time and again. Katsuki Yuuri, to the tinkling piano in the beginning of _Yuuri on Ice_ in his FS program, opening his palms and bringing them upwards towards the sky—a silent wish, a silent pray.

 

 

**•ヴィっちゃん– Vicchan** (n.) Vicchan the Dog.

  
Sometimes, Makkachin ran circles around the front garden of the Katsuki onsen, endlessly and happily barking like he was chasing something no one else could see, and Yuuri would say almost wistfully, “I wonder if Makkachin’s would have been very good friends with Vicchan.”  
   
Victor knew about Viktor. About the story of a poodle named after him, because little Yuuri had put him and his achievements among the stars to aspire for. It still humbled him, even now, to think that someone as amazing as Yuuri had put him in such a high pedestal when he had been the one who brought back colors into Victor’s life.  
   
So he wrapped his arms around Yuuri from behind and said cheerfully, “What are you talking about, Yuuri, of course they’re best friends! See, they’re playing together already!”

 

  
   
**•エロス – Eros** (n.) sexual desire, physical love.

  
Once, in one of the interviews in the early qualifier tournaments after Yuuri finished performing his short program, one of the interviewers turned to Victor and asked, “Why did you choose to choreograph Eros?”  
   
While it was considerably rude manner—this was Yuuri’s performance, not Victor’s, and the spotlight should be Yuuri’s—there was a genuine curiosity and a bit of bafflement in the interviewer’s tone, enough that it bugged Victor because how could you not understand, after seeing Yuuri’s skate? So he leaned forward, all the while pressing himself close to Yuuri’s side, and said, “do you want the long answer or the short answer?”  
   
The interviewer hesitated for a second, clearly hadn’t expected that Victor would answer him seriously. “Both, if you don’t mind?”  
   
“Oh, I don’t,” Victor said lightly. “The short answer would simply because I think it suits Yuuri.”  
   
There was a murmur of wonder, a slight debate among the interviewers on Victor’s answer, and by his side, Yuuri shifted almost uncomfortably. “The long answer,” Victor continued, one hand reaching back to rest on the small of Yuuri’s back in a comforting gesture. “Was because of Plato and Socrates.”  
   
“Are you referring to the old Greek concepts of love?” another interviewer called.  
   
“Oh, we have a smart one, I see!” Victor smiled, waving at the general direction of the interviewer and flashing a thumb-up. “Eros is about sexual passion, but Plato also said that with contemplation, it becomes an appreciation of the beauty within that person, or of beauty itself. Socrates argued that it’s eros that helps the soul remember the knowledge of beauty in order to understand spiritual truth, the ideal form of beauty itself. In this sense, I believe that Yuuri’s very skating is eros in itself—I wanted the world to remember the very truth of beauty through Yuuri’s eros and revel in it—“  
   
He was pretty sure he’d spent more than five minutes lecturing the interviewers about eros and ancient Greek meaning of it, all the while inwardly laughing at the increasingly confused looks of the interviewers. When they were finally released from the clutch of media, it was Yuuri’s face that made him burst into laugh; the poor Piglet looked absolutely lost.  
   
“Should I maybe read up on Socrates and Plato—“ Yuuri began hesitantly, and Victor cracked up even more.  
   
It wasn’t technically a lie—both the short and the long answer. Victor had thought long and hard over choreographing the piece, but even what cinched his decision on making Yuuri skate Eros was as simple as the memory of the ball night the year before—of Yuuri on the dance floor, intoxicated and grinning and free and so alluring Victor couldn’t keep his eyes off him.  
   
Because Yuuri’s eros had been what captured Victor in the first place, and he had wanted to see it again on ice.

 

  
   
**•オタベック·アルティン – Otabek Altin** (n.) Yuri’s friend?, figure skater.

  
Victor stared mutely at the face of Otabek Altin on the screen of Yuri Plisetsky’s laptop.  
   
Yuri, on the other hand, turned redder than the shade of Mila’s lipstick, and Victor barely got to blink before a pillow hit him square on the face. “Will anyone in this house learn the fuck to knock, already?! You do know this is my room, right?!”  
   
“Um,” Yuuri said from behind Victor’s back—the cheater, purposefully hiding behind him clearly to evade Yuri’s wrath. “We figured you’d probably be hungry, since you didn’t go out with us for dinner—Yurio, are you… skyping with Otabek?”  
   
Yuri interestingly turned even redder. “What, is it forbidden now to skype with your friend?!”  
   
Defensive Yuri is nothing new. Angry Yuri is Yuri’s constant state anyway. But Yuri calling a fellow figure skater friend—Victor eyed Otabek’s’ face on the screen suspiciously. “Friend?”  
   
“We’ve been keeping in contact,” Otabek answered in an almost monotone voice, sounding rather staticky despite his video quality seemed to be stable. “We’re playing agar.io right now.”  
   
“And thanks to you guys barging in, I just fucking died,” Yuri grumbled, but at least he wasn’t glaring whole-heartedly at Victor anymore. It was Yuuri who bore the brunt of his glare now, judging by how Yuuri inched closer to Victor. “What do you want, Katsudon?”  
   
Yuuri raised the plastic bag containing the take-out they had brought back after dinner. “Since you didn’t want to join us—“  
   
Victor crossed his arms over his chest. “So you chose a stupid game over having dinner with us, Yurio?” His lips twisted, feigning hurt. “I guess we’re not important for you.”  
   
Yuri spluttered. “It’s not a stu--!” he paused as Victor raised an eyebrow pointedly, flushing red to the roots of his hair. “Fine, so it _is_ a stupid game, but who wants to go as your third wheel—“  
   
“So you go on your own date instead?” Victor supplied, a grin tugging on the corner of his lips, and well, that was enough to make Yuri explode.  
   
“Don’t lump me together with you two gross lovers!”  
   
Closing the door behind them to save themselves from the barrage of pillows and various other things Yuri had thrown at them, Victor let a happy laugh bubble up from his throat. Yuuri was shaking his head, clearly amused. “Victor, you always tease him so much.” A gentle chiding, as expected. “It’s great that Yurio made a friend! Well, more friends. Otabek is a great person.”  
   
“He’s fun to tease,” Victor said, positively giggling at the continuous angry shout muffled behind the door. He led Yuuri down the hall, catching Yuuri’s empty hands in his own—he had apparently managed to put aside the take-out they had brought for Yuri before they bolted out of Yuri’s room. “I’m sure Otabek wouldn’t mind—not that I know much about him, but his skating is great, so he can’t be a bad person. Besides, you know what they say: you’re not close enough best friends if other people haven’t mistaken you to be dating.”  
   
Right before they turned on the corner of the hall, Yuri’s door slammed open, and both Victor and Yuuri turned as the tuft of blond hair that was Yuri’s head popped out the door. There was a split-second of silence, and then Yuri’s angry shout echoed, “Thanks for the pasta, Katsudon!!”  
   
The head disappeared as fast as it appeared. Victor and Yuuri stared at the closed door mutely.  
   
Victor pouted. “I can’t believe he’s picking favorites,” he said, and Yuuri began to laugh.  
   
Well, Otabek seemed to be a good enough influence. Victor was good with that.

 

 

**•勝生勇利 – Katsuki Yuuri** (n.); fiancé, better half, figure skater; see also: **愛 (Ai)**

  
“Have you ever thought,” Yuuri whispered in the darkness of their room, each syllable engraved into the bare skin of Victor’s shoulder. “That maybe it’s okay if you die now?”  
   
Last year, if Yuuri had told him this, Victor would have been alarmed. Now, though, he’d understood better—about the complicated puzzle that was Katsuki Yuuri, about the contradictions in the trail of his thoughts and choices, about the simultaneously selfish but also considerate human being who somehow managed to love the world so selflessly. So Victor shifted onto his side, caught Yuuri’s hand and pressed a light kiss against the tips of his fingers, and murmured, “If I say yes, I have, you would be scared off.”  
   
Yuuri looks surprised, like the weight of his words earlier had just dawned on him. “Oh. Oh no, please don’t think like that, Victor.”   
   
“Then you shouldn’t say things like that, either.” Their bare feet touched under the blankets—Yuuri winced because Victor’s feet were always cold, but he let Victor nestle and tangle them together anyway, let Victor stole the constant warmth Yuuri seemed to have in him. He pressed their foreheads together, enjoyed inhaling what Yuuri exhaled, and softly asked, “Why did you think that way?”  
   
For a while, Yuuri was silent. It wasn’t the sort of anxious silence he had when he was looking for an answer, no. This was the sort of silence Yuuri had when he was trying to find the right words, to convey what he felt properly. So Victor waited, fingers slipping into the dark strands of Yuuri’s hair, absently running them through, until Yuuri took a breath.  
   
“Victor,” he said, quiet, and the air in the room seemed to change. “I’m really, really happy.”  
   
There was something in Yuuri’s voice that made Victor freeze. Their eyes met, and Yuuri’s hand reached up to find Victor’s own in his hair, searching before tangling them together and bringing them down to his cheek.  
   
“I’m really happy,” Yuuri said, again, but it didn’t feel like repetition. “Just having you by my side, like this, everything feels perfect and I feel like I could go anywhere. Anywhere, as long as I have you with me, and—“ he paused, sucked a breath, pressed his lips against the pulse on Victor’s wrist. “And sometimes I thought, is it okay to be so happy like this? What would I do if you were taken away from me? If I have to let go of this happiness?”  
   
With a light rustle of blankets and sheets, Yuuri curled forward, pressing his forehead against their joined hands, like he wanted to make a cocoon to protect them.  
   
“Compared to that, dying now when I’m so drunk with happiness seems preferable.”  
   
Victor opened his mouth, found no words, and closed it again. His hand was shaking, and Yuuri’s hand was shaking too, and he wasn’t sure if that was because Yuuri’s words were so powerful, or if their feelings were too overwhelming. His breath caught in his throat every time he tried to say something, and when the word finally came out, it wasn’t at all what he wanted to say: “You’re always so selfish, Yuuri.”  
   
Yuuri’s eyes when he looked up at him were soft. “Are you crying?”  
   
He was. He didn’t even notice, but his pillow was wet. “You were talking about dying and leaving me alone.”  
   
A tender finger found the tears on the corner of his eye, gently wiping them away. Yuuri pulled him closer, breath warm against the tip of Victor’s nose, and Victor kissed him before he could say anything else.  
   
Against his lips, Yuuri carved another selfish wish, “then stay with me forever, Victor. Forever.”

 

  
   
**クリストフ·ジャコメッティ– Christophe Giacometti** (n.) best friend, figure skater.

  
There were folk stories, back when he was little, about gods who descended down to the human world because their hearts had been captured by humans. Chris had once laughed and likened him and Yuuri to one of those legends; “You’re the star,” he’d said, “and he stands nowhere near your level. Victor, I don’t know what you see in him.”  
   
Here was the thing about Chris: he was so good at bluffing, he could fool even himself. It really didn’t take a genius to recognize the sheer excitement in Chris’ voice when the topic of Yuuri came up in their conversations, or the gleam of challenge in his eyes when Yuuri passed them by.  
   
Victor smiled, raised the glass in his hand and watched the red liquid swirl. “But you’ve never had good taste for men, Chris.”  
   
Chris threw him an offended look. “Excuse you, I have a huge number of fans complimenting my boyfriend in terms of physical appearance and demanding me to disclose his name.”  
   
“Which you never remembered yourself,” Victor sing-sang. He tossed back his drink and reached out for another glass when one of the waitress sashayed past, deft fingers placing the empty one onto her tray before she slipped away in-between the higher-ups of ISU. He turned back to Chris, purposefully letting the lights caught the surface of his engagement ring and made it glint.  
   
He probably needed to stop admiring how pretty it was.  
   
“I mean Yuuri’s fun,” Chris allowed. “Incredibly so when he’s drunk—remember the things he did with the pole? I should get someone to spike his drink and get my portable pole ready. Anyway, but my point stands.”  
   
Victor tilted his head, a perfect look of faux innocence on his face. “About the things Yuuri did with the pole? I agree. He’s so flexible, I think that’s half of why he’s so good in bed—”  
   
A sharp kick hit Victor on his back, too familiar by now for him not to recognize who it was without turning around. Sure enough, Yuri Plisetsky’s voice cut through the air as he walked hurriedly past, glaring at Victor despite the interesting shade of red across his cheeks, hissing scandalously, “you’re in public!”  
   
“Your kid is always so angry,” Chris said once Yuri was a safe distance away.  
   
Victor grinned. “Yeah, isn’t he adorable?”

 

  
   
**•結婚式 – Kekkonshiki** (n.) marriage ceremony; see also: **誓い (Chikai)**

  
They decided on having the ceremony in December.  
   
Victor let Yuuri decide most of it, honestly. He had no particular preference, except for the music that would be played at the chapel and the reception afterwards, and while he did his own researches on chapels and flowers and other things, he didn’t exactly argue so much as suggesting things. December, Yuuri had insisted, because it was apparently a special month for him. Barcelona, Yuuri had insisted, because it was where they got engaged, and Victor smiled and agreed.  
   
Yuri, surprisingly, got really involved in choosing flowers for their wedding ceremony. Roses, according to the now sixteen year-old skater, was so overrated, and they didn’t suit neither Victor or a Katsudon, anyway. Yuuri himself seemed content to let Yuri be in charge of their flowers, a decision that proved wise because Yuri’s choices nearly send both Victor and Yuuri into tears—forget-me-nots for true love, cockscombs for a love that never fade, azaleas for happiness of being loved, hydrangeas for patient love, bluebells for gratitude, and red peonies for devotion.  
   
The chapel was small, but it was gorgeous. Just big enough to host their closest friends, families, and the figure skaters who’d been their colleagues. The first time Victor and Yuuri set foot there, they both spent almost a full twenty minutes staring at the mosaic of angels made out of colored-glass at the center of the roof, admiring the way sunrays broke into different shade as they filtered through. Yuuri never let go of his hand the entire time.  
   
“Sometimes I think I want a bigger ceremony,” Yuuri said, and Victor tilted his head, watching the play of lights that was reflected on Yuuri’s eyes. “I mean, it’s definitely a waste—it’s not like I have that many friends, and you didn’t want to invite a lot of people anyway, but sometimes, I think it’d be nice to have a bigger ceremony.”  
   
Victor turned to look at him properly. “We’ll have a bigger ceremony if you want,” he said honestly, because if Yuuri wanted it, then Victor’s wish was to give it. “Do you want a bigger ceremony? I’m pretty sure I can still get a reservation on the hotel ballroom for—“  
   
Yuuri laughed, pressed a finger against Victor’s lips. “Victor,” he said, eyes dancing. “It’s just me being selfish.”  
   
“I like you being selfish,” Victor told him, and Yuuri flashed him a brilliant smile, his cheeks pink.  
   
“No, I meant—“ he shrugged, like he was looking for the right words, and Victor waited. “I meant, I just wanted the whole world to see. That I’m taking Victor Nikiforov away. Your love, your everything. All mine and mine only.”  
   
He wasn’t sure if it was the honest, yet possessive tone that laced Yuuri’s voice. Perhaps it was the almost casual way Yuuri said it. Maybe it was the words themselves, or the realization of how much Yuuri wanted him, or just Katsuki Yuuri, red to the tips of his ears, hand folding inside Victor’s own, selfishly keeping everything of Victor for himself.  
   
“I think,” he said, sounding kind of faint. “I’m gonna check if they have the hotel ballroom open still.”  
   
In the end, they kissed as pronounced husbands under the curve of the chapel’s colored-glass mosaic, bathed in beautiful white-golden sunrays that glint off their matching rings. They did, however, also have the reception in the biggest ballroom available in Barcelona, with a full line-up of international media invited and extended invitations for everyone who are involved in the world of figure skating.  
   
_Let the world know_ , was what Victor etch onto Yuuri’s lips as they kissed to the cheers of their friends. _Let the world know that I’m yours, and that you are equally mine._

 

  
   
**•氷 – Koori** (n.) ice; see also: **愛 (Ai)**.

  
They all belonged to the ice, in the way that they didn’t to anything or anyone else in this world.  
   
Yuuri called everything on ice ‘love’. It sounded a little like he was simplifying everything, though Victor knew he was right. There was no meaning to being on ice unless you love, unless you are loved, unless you embrace the very love itself. He’d known relationships and bonds that began and ended on ice, known every drop of sweat and tears shed on ice, known of histories made and broken on ice. Their performances are love in and of itself, and perhaps that was why Victor kept being drawn back to ice.  
   
Because he loved. He loved being on ice, loved the frozen air that surrounded him as he skate, loved the way the world spin and blur when he jumped. He loved the eyes of the audience watching him on ice, loved watching others on ice, loved watching Yuuri on ice.  
   
Even before he loved Katsuki Yuuri, Victor Nikiforov had fallen in love with ice.

 

 

• **傍にいて– soba ni ite** (phrase.) be by my side.

  
There was only one promise that Victor spent sleepless nights thinking about. One he’d never actually spoken, but vowed silently anyway after the words slipped out of Yuuri’s lips: _stay by my side._  
   
Victor wasn’t used to stay on anyone’s side.  
   
Figure skating was a largely individual sport. You went out there on the ice, alone, under the eyes of hundreds of spectators, and performed by yourself. Your coach and choreographer might be there with you, but in the end, you were the one who had to cinch everything as perfect as you could. Being the genius who usually choreograph and produce his own programs, Victor’s skating was even more a solitary act compared to other athletes. And Yuuri had looked the same Victor Nikiforov in the eye, plip-plop tears in his eyes and pieces of broken heart scattering around his feet, asking him to stay by his side.  
   
The question was how.  
   
What did Yuuri need, he thought. What could he do as Yuuri’s coach, what could he give to Yuuri? How should he touch Yuuri’s heart without being on ice himself, how should he become the love that supported Yuuri more than anything and anyone else? _You don’t have to say anything,_ Yuuri had said, gathering pieces of himself into his own hands and holding them until he bled. _Just stay by my side._  
   
So Victor reached out to cradle those pieces together, and stayed.

 

  
   
• **JJ – JJ** (n.) figure skater.

  
He was that one skater from Canada, the one who has a beautiful and cool-looking girlfriend. Flashy and almost flamboyant, though not so much as Chris, and Victor would be lying if he said he didn’t admire him for his perfect executions of flips and loops, his beautiful salchow and lutz, but the thing was, well.  
   
What was his name again? Jea—James, John, Jack, Jea—yeah, Jean, Victor was pretty sure it was Jean. Jean Jack—no, Jacq—hmm.  
   
Okay, yeah, JJ. There, see, Victor remembered his name perfectly!

 

  
   
• **誓い– chikai** (n.) oath, vow; see also: **結婚式 (Kekkonshiki)**.

  
Between the two of them, they have made a lot of vows.  
   
_We’ll win the gold_ , was one of the most often vows they both made. Hell, it had been Victor’s first vow to Yuuri, even if the fact that it was made when he was butt-naked in the open air onsen sort of turned the whole thing rather comical. There were others, too— _be my coach until I retire_ , which Victor personally counted as a marriage proposal, and the unspoken _I’ll show you the skate that I like best_ , and _I’ll make it up to you with my skating_. Most of them had been Yuuri’s, because Katsuki Yuuri was an incredibly selfish person, and Victor loved him for it.  
   
Maybe that was why he’d expected Yuuri’s wedding vow would be long. Longer than his own, at least. Victor’s vow was a proper length, long enough to bring the audience to tears, short enough that he could end it without anyone in the audience getting restless. He’d put a lot of thoughts into it; his gratitude to have Yuuri in his life, the thrill that Yuuri brought back into his life, the wish to remain together, to have forever, the vow to never leave and stay by Yuuri’s side.  
   
There were glimmering tears in Yuuri’s eyes when he’d finished, and they fall the moment Yuuri began reading his own vow.  
   
Which ended in two seconds, because all Yuuri said was, “To you, my vow for the two worlds.”  
   
The small chapel, filled with close family and friends and world figure skaters, was silent.  
   
And Victor’s tears fall.  
   
He raised a hand over his mouth, covered it in an attempt to quell the sob that threatened to escape his throat, because he remembered. He remembered indulging Yuuko for a chat months after his engagement, remembered Yuuko recounting her own wedding and the traditional Japanese wedding vow she had considered but didn’t use in the end— _nise no chigiri wo chikau_ , Yuuko had said dreamily, _means to vow both your life in this world and the world after you die._  
   
Ah, Victor thought, the slightest of amusement flashing through his mind. Katsuki Yuuri had never failed to surprise him.

 

  
   
• **抱く– Daku** (v.) to embrace, to hold in arms, to make love.

  
Their first time was a quiet night after the media frenzy that was the result of Onsen on Ice, and Yuuri, fingers trembling just as much as his lips were, had been the one who whispered, “Hold me, Victor.”  
   
Victor did. He led, mostly because it had been what Yuuri needed, and he learned of the soft skin under his fingertips, the curve and dip of Yuuri’s body, the breathless gasps that followed each kiss they traded. Yuuri’s back, when it arched, was a beautiful curve over the tatami, and Victor briefly thought about dragging both of them onto the futon, except Yuuri pressed up against him, and his brain fizzled with pleasure.  
   
He followed the lines of Yuuri’s side with a finger, traced every dip in-between Yuuri’s ribs, lingered on the hollow of Yuuri’s hip. Yuuri tasted of clean sweat and a bit of iron—the taste of the onsen water—and Victor latched his teeth over Yuuri’s collarbone when he finally pressed inside, and Yuuri shattered.  
   
“Ngggh—“ a long whine, and then a sharp gasp, like Yuuri couldn’t get enough air, and Victor watched as his lips move, soundless for a moment before broken syllable escaped into the air. “—ctor, Victo—a- _ah_ , Victor—“  
   
Yuuri was beautiful. He was beautiful like this, too: stretched under Victor, chest heaving and fingers digging into the tatami beneath, eyebrows taut in both pain and pleasure, lips slack and knew nothing but the syllables of Victor’s name, over and over. Victor bent down, pressed the lines of their bodies together and took Yuuri’s hands in his own. “Beautiful,” he whispered, rocking forward, and Yuuri lost what little breath he had.  
   
Tonight, with identical gold bands circling their ring fingers, it was Yuuri rocking into him, and Victor tossed his head sideways at a particularly strong snap of Yuuri’s hips. _More_ , he thought, but his lips couldn’t form the word, and he whined instead, as breathless as Yuuri was above him. The lights over their bed was too bright, making Yuuri’s face nothing but a silhouette, and Victor sort of hated it because he couldn’t see how beautiful Yuuri was.  
   
“Victor,” he heard Yuuri murmur, but his brain didn’t seem to register it as his name. “Victor, look at me. Are you okay?”  
   
Fingers skittering down his chest, down his hips, and Victor, feeling deliciously stretched out and full and _loved_ , thought, please.  
   
“Yuuri,” he called out, out of breath as he reached up. _“Hold me.”_  
   
Yuuri did.

 

  
   
• **西郡家– Nishigori-ka** (n.) Nishigori Family.

  
“So,” Victor said to Nishigori Takeshi, right after he yelled at his daughters to properly shelve their skating shoes back before putting on their actual shoes. “What are their names?”  
   
Takeshi stared at Victor for a long while, enough for Victor to wonder if he’d used the wrong Japanese phrase to ask. “Uhh,” Takeshi said, sounding unsure, and that was when his wife arrived, having skated from the other side of the rink. Victor watched him offer a hand for Yuuko to steady herself as she stepped out, and nearly missed the rest of Takeshi’s answer: “you didn’t know our daughters’ names?”  
   
Well, not an answer apparently. Victor blinked. “Well,” he said slowly. “I know everyone called them Axel, Lutz, and Loop, but I mean, what’s their real names?”  
   
“Those are our real names!” the triplets chorused from somewhere near his foot, and Victor nearly jumped. “They’re the best names ever!”  
   
“I spent so many late nights thinking up which kanji to use,” Yuuko piped in, sounding nostalgic. “Loop’s was pretty easy, but I even had to bug Yuuri all the way in Detroit so he could help me think up the kanji to make up Axel’s name.”  
   
“You named your kids to the names of jumps in figure skating,” Victor said. “You actually named them—I thought they were just nicknames.”  
   
Takeshi grinned. “Nope. Want us to show you the kanji we use for their names? They have great meanings, just so you know.”  
   
That night, not one minute after Victor went back to the Katsuki Onsen, Yuuko dialed Yuuri’s number and cheerfully told him, “Good luck talking Victor out of naming your future children ‘Saruko’!”

 

  
   
• **長谷津 – Hasetsu** (n.) town of Hasetsu.

  
Compared to Saint Petersburg, Hasetsu was adorably small.  
   
Victor loved the quiet that was Hasetsu. The people were nice and welcoming, but never hesitated to stop and politely told Victor if he was doing something wrong. The temperature stayed rather warm the whole year, though that was probably because Victor was from Russia and Hasetsu was located on the southern part of Japan. The beach was beautiful, the Hasetsu Castle that stood guard over the city looked majestic at any time of the day, the _shoutengai_ sold Korean potteries and silly things that Victor could laugh over the better part of the day. The food was great, too, and Victor already made a list of places he wanted to go look the next time he visited Hasetsu when he was off—Yuuri would probably not mid going with him to the pine groves and the many natural sea caves Hasetsu had.  
   
In a way, the town felt somehow like home. Home away from Saint Petersburg, yes, but also home because a part of Yuuri would always stay at Hasetsu, and Victor was thankful he could be a part of that.  
   
He had a place in Hasetsu. The Katsuki onsen kept the room he first stayed in as his room and wouldn’t rent it out to any other guest. The Nishigori family gave him a spare key to their rink and invited him for dinner every other day of his stay. Minako-sensei graduated from being his fan and into his drinking friend, and the old man who came often to the onsen took to bringing him fresh milk to drink after bath.  
   
And Yuuri, clad in loose yukata and a much looser smile, smiling at him as he closed the sliding door behind him, bare feet almost silent on the tatami mats, eyes content and simply happy to have Victor there.

 

  
   
• **頬 – Hoho** (n.) cheek.

  
If Victor had to choose what part of Yuuri he loved best, it would probably be his cheeks.  
   
Look, Victor Nikiforov is weak to everything fluffy or round or adorable. Also preferably huggable. There was a reason why he own a poodle instead of any dogs of other breeds, because a poodle was fluffy and it could grow big but it would always be light enough to lift up and hug. And Yuuri’s cheeks were always soft and round and adorable, and while they weren’t exactly huggable, they were still bite-able.  
   
They were also a good indicator if Yuuri had been gaining more weight than he should be.  
   
“Ow, Victor—“ Yuuri whined as Victor laughed, the sound muffled into the soft skin of Yuuri’s cheek. A good portion of it was in-between Victor’s teeth, and Victor playfully, gently made a chomping motion with his mouth. “Victor, stop iiittt—“  
   
He let go of the cheek, but not before grossly licking it the way Makkachin would. Yuuri made a face at him. “They’re getting chubbier,” Victor said, leaning further against Yuuri’s side, resting his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder. “Have you been eating too much pirozhki katsudon, Yuuri? Should I get you to exercise more—“ he lowered his tone, keeping his voice light and airy and sing-sang, “—in bed～?”  
   
There’s a split-second in which Victor could see the change in Yuuri’s eyes: the smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips, the narrowing of his eyes, the confidence in his look. Yuuri leaned close, all heat and temptation, and Victor swallowed when he could feel Yuuri’s words dance across his lips: “Is that your excuse to eat me up tonight?”  
   
Victor’s lips curl into a smile; faux-innocence dripping with seduction. “Whatever you’re talking about?” he whispered into the shared air between them. “I just want to keep watch on your figure since you gain weight so easily.”  
   
He wasn’t sure which one of them closed the gap between their lips, but Victor mentally thanked god for the menu tonight.

 

  
   
**ピチット·チュラノン – Phichit Chulanont** (n.) Yuuri’s best friend, figure skater.

  
Look, Phichit was a good kid. He was Yuuri’s best friend in Detroit and was still Yuuri’s best friend now, which meant he’d seen parts of Yuuri that Victor probably hadn’t seen. Not to mention that he was nice and friendly to everyone, he apparently had an army of hamster back home in Thai, and he’d been a supportive friend and rival for Yuuri, too. People who were important to Yuuri would be important for Victor as well, and Victor genuinely liked Phichit, but.  
   
The millennial kid’s obsession on social media baffled Victor so much.  
   
Victor loved Instagram as much as the next person, okay. It was a convenient way to store memories in the forms of photos, a good way to connect people from all over the world, and most importantly, very fun. He loved fun things. And he was pretty sure the relationship between Phichit and Instagram (or any other social media for that matter) had progressed beyond love well into the realm of dependency, probably.  
   
It also made going out to dinner with Phichit rather… hard.  
   
“Victor, Yuuri!” Phichit hissed, eyes narrowed in warning. “Don’t touch your food yet! I haven’t taken a picture of it!”  
   
“I’m hungry,” Yuuri lamented, eyes huge and watery at the sight of the lamb chop dish resting in front of him. Across him, Phichit was starting to tilt his phone here and there, a look of intense concentration on his face—which would be incredibly cute, Victor figured, if he hadn’t been slightly exasperated because he was hungry.  
   
Ah well. To each their quirk—Phichit looked happy enough and anyway, he’d only just finished explaining his plans on making a theatrical show on ice and inviting them to join. There would be a lot of actual hamster and giant hamster suits involved, apparently. Victor thought it was brilliant, because hamsters! Weren’t they just the cutest?  
   
“Pose with your food,” Phichit continued eagerly, pulling out his selfie-stick and attaching his phone there, before turning and leaning back until all of them were in the camera. “This is Phichit Chulanont crashing Yuuri Katsuki and Victor Nikiforov’s date night, yaaaay!”  
   
…Phichit Chulanont was a good kid, all things considered.

 

  
   
• **眩しさ – Mabushisa** (n.) radiance.

  
There was something about Yuuri’s skating that set him apart from everyone else.  
   
Victor couldn’t quite put a finger to it—it wasn’t like Yuuri’s skating was extremely special. He still had a lot to improve technical-wise, and while his dramatic performance certainly shone bright, it wasn’t like it was flawless, either. He was certainly graceful, though not as graceful as Victor was, or even Yuri was. It was just the fact that every time, every time Yuuri stepped onto the ice, Victor saw and experienced something new.  
   
If Victor had to put it into words, he’d perhaps settle with this: Katsuki Yuuri was absolutely radiant.  
   
He wondered, sometimes, if the world could see it too, and this blinding light that Yuuri emitted when he skated across the rink was not a matter of Victor’s bias. There was a different, rough grace that followed the bend of Yuuri’s knees when he landed his jumps, a sort of strength fused into desperation in the straight line of his feet as he did the camel spin. It wasn’t the glint of a perfectly polished marble, but the the gleam of a diamond in the rough, either.  
   
Victor thought it might be hard work and the experience of falling and reaching rock-bottom that caused Yuuri to be so radiant. He wondered if the world saw this as clearly as he did, or if it was a privilege only he owned because he had been the one Yuuri’s love was born for.

 

 

  
**物語 – Monogatari** (n.) story.

  
Most, if not all fairytales, began like this: once upon a time, in a land far, far away—  
   
Their story didn’t begin like that. Heck, it even began at different times—the moment Victor had fallen in love was not the moment Yuuri fell in love. At least arguably, because Yuuri didn’t remember that night, anyway. Their story, from Victor’s point of view, started like this: In a world where he’d slowly forgotten the meaning of being here, a Prince took his hand for a dance and stole his heart away to a land far, far away.  
   
Yeah, that sounded about right.  
   
Yet, their story had been much like a fairytale. One with no evil wizards or wicked witches, just their own selves that they had to face in order to take a step forward. A fairytale in which they had reached a happy ending with the power of love, quite literally, and Victor sometimes wondered if it was okay for them to have this fairytale for their own.  
   
But then, when Yuuri’s hand reached for his own as they skated around one another on the rink, the orchestra echoing in the high roof above them, the lights catching on their costumes and matching rings, Victor knew that their story would continue. That their fairytale is one without ending, one woven by miracles they would grasp together, because life only happened once, and Victor would make sure that theirs was not something that didn’t leave footprints on the page of history.  
   
They were born, after all, to make history.

 

  
   
   
• **ヤコフ·フェルツマン – Yakov Feltsman** (n.) coach.

  
“So, Yakov,” Victor began as he skated past his coach for the seventh time. He used the momentum to jump and execute a simple single loop, before skating back towards where Yakov stood. “I was wondering, hypothetically—“  
   
“Your hypothetical scenario never ends up being hypothetical,” Yakov answered gruffly, turning back to the paper in his hand. “Did you come up with the training menu for Katsuki Yuuri, yet? He’s here to train, not to be your kept man.”  
   
Victor grinned. “You’re full of love as usual. And yes, I did.” He skated away from Yakov to the center of the ring, and let his body twirl into a perfect triple toe loop. He nearly slipped when he landed, though, but he managed not to lose his balance, and skated right back towards Yakov’s critical eyes. Nothing escaped his coach, really. “As I was saying, hypothetically—“  
   
Yakov grunted. “This is a bad idea, isn’t it.”  
   
“Hypothetically, if I want to make a giant bowl of katsudon that I could hide in for Yuuri’s birthday, how much do you think it would cost me?”  
   
His coach eyes that stared at him seemed to be giving up on the world. “Giant katsudon.”  
   
“Yup. The dish I showed you the other week, with the eggs and the pork cutlets?” Victor skated backwards, and then did a forward crossover. “I would probably need a ton of rice, right, and a hundred or two boxes of eggs. Not sure about the pork cutlets, though, but I figured I could ask Yurio about it later. It’d make an awesome birthday gift, don’t you think?”  
   
Yakov, in a true fashion of someone who had been dealing with Victor Nikiforov, Georgi Popovich, Mila Babicheva and Yuri Plisetsky for a long, long time, gave him a look with eyes as dead as a fish, turned away and ignored him completely.  
   
Victor thought it was pretty impressive.

 

  
   
• **ユーリ·プリセツキー – Yuri Plisetsky** (n.) angry kitten, figure skater.

  
Lately, Yuri’s moves on ice were getting awe-inspiringly graceful, enough for Victor to sort of feel threatened, but also curious.  
   
He knew Yuri had been focusing more on the ballet elements of his programs. Sometimes Yuri skipped trainings at the rink and went to Lilia’s place to work on his ballet’s poses and posture instead. It was a good point to emphasize—Yuri has a unique, slender figure that fused femininity and masculinity almost flawlessly, and this androgynous quality differed him from other skaters, giving him a sort of beautiful grace that no other skater could emulate.  
   
But as a fellow someone who lived on ice, Victor knew something was different.  
   
“Yuri,” he casually called after one of their practice sessions, hugging the Makkachin tissue box close to his chest. Yuuri was still on the rink, so he was going to wait a bit longer. Yuri, on the other hand, had just stepped out. “That triple axel just now was gorgeous.”  
   
“Thanks,” Yuri answered, sounding grumpy despite the pleased shade of red that colored his cheeks. There was a spring in his steps, one that Victor had learned to associate with _something good is happening today_ , and well, he’d never had the self-control not to tease Yuri, had he?  
   
So Victor tilted his head, lips curling into a smile, and asked brightly, “Have you been trying to impress someone?”  
   
Yuri’s head snapped towards him in a surprising speed, bright red, eyes wide and mouth open in what would be an angry yell, except he tripped over his feet and stumbled down face first onto the floor first.  
   
Victor winced. Oh, bulls-eye.  
   
“Why should I try to impress anyone in this place?!” Yuri fumed the second he got himself back on his feet. “There’s no one worth it anyway! I don’t care about impressing you, or Katsudon—I’ll beat both of you to the ground, just you wa—“  
   
It was at this moment Mila chose to make her appearance from the other side of the rink, yelling, “Yuri! Today’s recording of your practice, do you want me to send it to Otabek now or do you want to send it yourself?!”  
   
Victor watched in amusement as the shade of red that was Yuri’s face turned several shades deeper.  
   
“Wh—“ the younger Russian stuttered, looking almost like a kid caught red-handed wetting his bed. “What’s so wrong about trying hard to impress your best friend, huh?!”  
   
With that, the angry kitten fled towards the other side of the rink where Mila waited, presumably to get his so-called today’s recording. Victor followed him with his eyes, biting down on a laugh, and called after him, “But I didn’t say anything!”  
   
He got flipped a middle finger for his trouble. Ah, kids nowadays.

 

  
   
• **指輪 –Yubiwa** (n.) ring (jewelry). 

  
They had bought new rings for the wedding, but Victor always had his engagement ring with him.  
   
It circled his neck in a silver chain necklace, hidden under his shirt most of the time. Yuuri had a matching one, too—the chain necklace had been Phichit’s wedding gift for the both of them, so they had each gotten one—but he only wore it when he went on tournaments, because the rings had once not only been a symbol of engagement, but also a good luck charm. Victor always pressed a kiss to where it was hidden under Yuuri’s costume, before kissing the actual wedding ring on Yuuri’s finger and sending him off.  
   
He never told Yuuri this, but he whispered wishes against the ring every night after Yuuri fell asleep. He wished for their dreams to come true—big ones like the gold medal of the Grand Prix, small ones like being able to wake up to Yuuri’s smile every morning. If it was a good luck charm, Victor figured, why not wish upon it rather than the stars?  
   
So Victor whispered wishes against the engagement rings, prayers he’d never uttered to gods, but to the wedding ring on their fingers, he whispered feelings. Words of gratitude and support, laughter that spells amusement and satisfaction, tears when he got overwhelmed by everything, but most importantly, the three sacred words.  
   
“I love you.”

**\-----fin-----**


End file.
